Rain had started without warning.
It drummed against the tiled roof of the Elder's house, steady and unrelenting, turning the silence inside into something heavier than sound. The group stood in the entryway, water dripping from their clothes, mud still clinging to their boots from the forest path.
No one spoke.
Not after what they had seen.
Not after what Astha had told them.
The dolls. The altar. The bones. The bracelet.
Even Sreyan, usually the one to break tension with noise or sarcasm, stayed quiet this time.
When they entered the main hall, the Elder was already there.
Xingmei Jiyanu stood at the far end with three villagers, their heads bent over a worn map spread across a low wooden table. The paper was old, its edges curled and damp from time.
They were speaking in low voices.
The moment the door opened, the conversation stopped.
All heads turned.
And then—
silence.
The villagers went pale.
Sian stepped forward first.
"Elder," he said quietly.
The old man turned. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly controlled, replaced by something carefully composed.
"Oh?" He let out a small, polite breath. "All of you together? What is it?"
"We have something we want to ask you," Sian said.
The Elder studied them for a moment.
Mud-stained. Blood-marked. Exhausted.
His gaze lingered briefly on Yug's torn sleeve and Astha's unreadable expression.
Then he nodded.
"I see… come inside."
The sitting room was warm with oil lamps, but it didn't feel warm.
It felt sealed.
Like air that had been used too many times.
They sat.
No one offered tea.
No one pretended this was normal.
A long silence stretched until the Elder finally spoke.
"What happened?"
Sian looked at him directly.
"We found a lead about the missing children."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
The Elder's fingers tightened slightly around his cane.
"What did you find?" he asked.
"Sixteen missing children," Shreyan said.
"No."
The Elder's answer came immediately.
Sharp.
"It was fifteen."
A beat of silence.
Astha lifted his head.
"No," he said calmly. "He's right. It was sixteen."
The Elder's gaze snapped to him.
A flicker of something crossed his face.
"How could you forget about Mia?" Astha asked.
The name landed.
Hard.
Like something cracking under pressure.
The Elder froze.
For half a second, his expression broke—shock, raw and unguarded.
Then anger rushed in to cover it.
"What is the meaning of this?!" he shouted, striking his cane against the floor.
CRACK.
Yug finally pushed himself off the wall.
His voice was low.
"Why? Don't tell me you can't even recognize your own daughter."
The Elder's jaw tightened.
"You are mistaken," he said coldly.
Before the tension could settle—
a voice cut through the room.
"Enough!"
Everyone turned.
A woman stood at the doorway.
Older. Shaking. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying for years and had only just stopped pretending otherwise.
Wenjia.
The Elder's wife.
She stepped inside slowly, as though each step cost her something.
Her gaze fixed on him.
"How did you become like this?" she whispered. "How did you become so heartless…? She was your daughter…"
"Wenjia!" the Elder snapped. "Go back to your room!"
But she didn't move.
Her voice broke open.
"No! Why should I?! How much longer are you going to keep hiding this?!"
The villagers outside shifted uneasily. Some lowered their heads. Some avoided eye contact entirely.
Astha watched all of it.
Not the argument.
The reactions.
The silence between people who knew too much.
Yug's posture changed. The lazy slouch was gone.
"So it's true," he muttered. "You really erased her existence."
The Elder's face twisted.
"She should have never existed!"
The words exploded out of him.
And then—
everything stopped.
Wenjia froze as if struck.
Even the villagers looked horrified.
The Elder himself seemed to realize it a second too late.
Regret flickered across his face.
But it was already done.
Wenjia's breath broke.
"You're horrible…" she whispered.
Then she turned and left.
No one stopped her.
Her footsteps faded down the corridor, swallowed by rain.
Silence returned like a weight dropping into the room.
The Elder stood frozen.
Then slowly, the anger drained out of him.
What remained was something older.
Tired.
Empty.
James finally spoke.
"Now," he said quietly, "can you tell us what exactly is happening here? Why did you hide all of this?"
The Elder closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he looked older than before.
"Mia…" he murmured.
The name no longer sounded like accusation.
It sounded like memory.
"…was our daughter."
He sank into the chair as if his body had finally given up pretending it was strong.
"Wenjia's health was always weak," he said slowly. "The pregnancy… the doctor said neither of them might survive."
A faint sound came from outside the room, quickly swallowed by silence.
"But Wenjia refused to give up," he continued. "She said even a small chance was enough. She said a mother does not abandon her child before it breathes."
His fingers trembled slightly.
"And then Mia was born."
A pause.
A shift in his expression.
"She came into our lives like light after darkness."
His voice softened.
"She laughed all the time. Ran everywhere. Talked to everyone like she already belonged to them."
A faint, broken smile crossed his face.
"She loved flowers. She used to bring them home even when her hands were full."
He let out a small breath that might have been a laugh in another life.
"The village adored her."
Astha listened without blinking.
The Elder lowered his gaze.
"She was like sunshine," he whispered.
Rain pressed harder against the roof.
"And then…"
The warmth disappeared from his voice.
"She disappeared."
The words fell heavy.
"We searched everywhere. The forest. The river. Every house. Every path. Wenjia didn't sleep. I didn't sleep. No one slept."
He swallowed.
"But we found nothing."
Silence followed.
Then Sian spoke.
"If she disappeared, why hide it?"
The Elder's expression tightened.
"Because Wenjia broke," he said. "Completely. She started seeing Mia everywhere. Talking to her. Calling her at night."
A pause.
"And I am the Elder," he continued. "If the village learned I could not protect my own child, how could they trust me with theirs?"
His voice hardened slightly.
"So we hid it."
Shreyan's chair scraped back.
"So you chose your reputation over your daughter?"
The Elder's eyes flashed.
"You think it was a choice?!"
James stepped forward.
"Then who is responsible? Who took the children?"
The Elder shook his head.
"I don't know."
The answer came too quickly.
Too clean.
"You're lying," James said immediately.
The Elder's voice dropped.
"I have told you everything."
A pause.
"And I will say this once," he added. "Do not speak her name again in this house."
Then he turned and left.
The door shut behind him.
Heavy.
Final.
Silence filled the room.
Sreyan exhaled sharply.
"He's hiding something."
"Obviously," Yug said.
But Astha didn't move.Not yet.
His eyes remained fixed on the door the Elder had left through.
Then he spoke.
"He's not just lying."
A pause.
"He's avoiding."
Sian frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Astha finally turned.
His expression was calm—but sharper now.
Focused in a way that made the room feel smaller.
"When Mia was mentioned," he said, "he didn't just deny it."
Another pause.
"He reacted like the name itself was dangerous."
Silence spread again.
James narrowed his eyes.
"Like it triggers something?"
Astha nodded once.
"Yes."
Thunder rolled softly outside.
Yug pushed off the wall.
"So what now?" he asked. "We force it out of him?"
Astha's gaze shifted—not to the others, but toward the direction the Elder had gone.
"No," he said.
A pause.
"We don't chase someone who is already cornered."
Sreyan frowned.
"Then what?"
Astha lowered his hand slightly.
"The wife," he said simply.
:
:
:
Scene change
"….Why are you protecting that monster?!"